Gravity
by Judy Blue Eyes
Summary: Companion to How it Falls. A clandestine meeting on a subway train leads to a reunion the brothers never expected and a revelation that could tear apart a family... and a life. Rated for language. MurphyOC
1. Prologue

A/N: Well, here we go again guys! I hope all of my readers from How it Falls are back for more. This would be the place to go. New readers are always welcome. Whether you choose to read this story first or How it Falls first doesn't matter, nothing big is really spoiled in either one, and it is not necessary to have read How it Falls before you read Gravity. These two stories do intertwine, however, and happen at about the same time. And for all you who have read How it Falls, I there are a few little jokes and references in here just for you. In fact, you will probably recognize some of this Prologue. Also, as How it Falls, this story is loosely based on a song: Unbroken, by Missy Higgins. So, without further adieu, here it is: Gravity.

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A shot rang out.

Connor dropped to the floor.

"Son?" came the call.

Murphy had no idea whom his father was addressing, but he could not take his eyes off of the shooter to find out. "It's a fuckin' girl!"

"Fuck!" He heard Connor call out behind him as he rose from the position he'd assumed on the floor in order to avoid the shot the woman had sent his way.

"Drop the fuckin' gun!" Murphy yelled finally.

The woman shook her head. "Doesn't matter anyways. I used my last shot trying to hit him." And the gun cried out as it hit the floor. "Why I bothered I don't know. You've killed off most of my family and odds are the rest are next, no? So. Go ahead. Kill me." And with that she stepped forward into the middle of the room and dropped to her knees, her head bowed, three guns following her every move.

"No," Da said calmly. "You don't get out that easily." The three were upon her now and as she raised her head to ask what exactly he meant, he told her. "We do not kill women." And Da took the handle of his gun and knocked her in the back of the head. The girl slumped to the ground. Then Connor took her arms and Murphy her feet and together they moved her over to one of the few chairs that wasn't spattered with blood and sat her down in it. Murphy turned away immediately to finish crossing the other victims, but Connor hesitated for a moment, considering the girl.

"This is not good," he said quietly.

"Connor," Murphy called to his brother. They'd finished what they'd started. It was time to leave. He waved him over. Connor jogged across the room to meet Murphy and their father. They walked together back the way they had come for a bit until they got to the main road. Then each clasped hands and went his separate way.

It would be a long while before Murphy got home. He had the longest route to travel: back into the city and then down on the subway and from there, there was quite a walk back to the apartment. It would be morning before he got home. But it was necessary. Ever since their attack on the courthouse, they had learned to be careful… extremely careful. They might've gone to New York. They might've gone to Philadelphia. They might have gone a lot of places. But they had a life here. Besides, it just would've followed them anywhere. They couldn't stop. No, they couldn't stop now. They couldn't stop ever. So here, in Boston, was as good a place as any.

Murphy continued walking and shrugged his coat from his shoulders as he did. He'd left his equipment with Connor, who was taking a cab, and now regretted not having also left his coat. The ground was thawed now and the air had lost its night chill already. The hit had gone well, all in all. The girl had been a surprise, but it had turned out alright. No one had been hurt. Well… no MacManus.

The dawn light broke over the horizon as he walked and by the time he reached the subway station it was full morning. Murphy smoothed down his hair and approached the ticket counter. The place was packed, which was odd for a Saturday morning, but to his advantage. He politely thanked the woman at the counter, took his ticket, and boarded the train.

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A/N: Well, I hope you liked it. Please review!


	2. The Ride toward Reunion

A/N: So I am hoping that you How it Falls people are reading and just haven't reviewed. I will be very sad if you are not. And I'm really hoping the rest of you who read the Prologue are sticking with me and will be giving me some feedback soon. I know that the prologue was kind of random, but the story starts here, hence why it was a prologue, not a chapter. Lol. Anyhow, here it begins.

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Somehow the train was even more crowded than the platform, but Murphy was one of the first on and had no problem finding a seat. The doors closed and the trains slid forward. Murphy picked up and abandoned newspaper and skimmed it. The trains came to a jerking stop at the next station and yet more passengers boarded. By now there were no seats left and the newcomers were forced to stand. Murphy dropped the paper, finding nothing of interest in it. Then he looked up at the newly boarded passengers. As the train started, the young woman in front of him stumbled and he rose to catch her and stop a domino effect from overcoming the train. "Here. Why don't yeh sit down," he offered with a friendly smile. She thanked him courteously and agreed.

A few stops later, the crowd had cleared. A seat had opened up next to the one he'd previously given up and Murphy took it. As the trains pulled away, he once again had to catch the same young woman as this time she was startled from her paper and fell into him. "Oh, God," she said, quite embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to these trains. Oh, God, I'm so sorry!"

Murphy chuckled. "It's fine, really," he told her. "I know I had a bit o' trouble gettin' used ta them when I first came here."

She smiled. "Where are you from?" she asked by way of making conversation.

"Dublin," was the simple answer. Murphy wasn't normally a big conversationalist, at least not with people he didn't already know. There was a silence then, a silence Murphy had planned. But then he did something he hadn't expected himself to do. "Not many people goin' this way," he said.

"No, I guess not."

"Where're yeh off to?" Murphy had no idea why he was talking to this girl, but he was, and he couldn't stop himself.

"I'm going down to visit a friend of mine from college. She just recently moved here."

"Ah, that's nice," Murphy tried, having no idea what to say. "Reunions are always fun. Seein' someone yeh haven't seen in a while." She nodded. "It's nice of yeh ta go down if she's new in the city, doesn' know a whole lot o people." She smiled. "Where does she live?"

"Um…." She fiddled around in her purse for a moment until she found the piece of paper she had apparently been looking for and pulled it out. "Bowen street," she told him. "I'm supposed to get off at Broadway and then take a cab."

"That's a fairly long trek fer yeh," he remarked.

"Oh, yeah. Well… I don't mind it," she told him with a nostalgic smile on her face. "It give me an excuse to come down to this part of the city. I don't get down here much."

"No?" He was confused by her tone and her expression more than her words themselves. "Well, I can't say I'd exactly expect yeh ta want an excuse ta come down here. I mean, it's not exactly Park Avenue."

The girl laughed lightly. "It doesn't really bother me. Actually, I like it." He tone turned matter-of-fact. "My family lived down here when I was younger, before my father got his big promotion. And then it was promotion after promotion, new house after new house, and more expensive things than you could imagine. But we never stayed in one place very long. There was always something better to be had. So this… down here… this part of the city… South Boston… is the most like home to me of anywhere I've ever been, simply because it's the only place I ever had time to make any connections, except maybe when I was away at college. I have a relative lot of friends down here, but I don't come down often. Firstly, my parents don't like it. They say it makes them nervous. Nevermind that we used to live down here. And second, when I get together with my old friends, they usually are looking for an excuse to come up by me."

"Ah…" And what was he supposed to say to that? He hadn't expected her whole life story. "Well, I've been livin' down 'ere fer a while now, an' I see why yeh like it," he told her. "There's heart in it."

She smiled. "Yes, that there is."

It was quiet for a while then. Murphy glanced around the train. It was almost deserted. "Broadway's comin' up," he remarked. She only nodded. "Well," he broached, thinking he must be insane. "I live around where yer friend does. I was goin' ta walk, but… would yeh like ta share a cab?"

The woman sort of looked at him strangely, perhaps considering how much of a threat he was if she said yes, perhaps considering how much of a threat he was if she said no. "I'll tell you what," she said after a while. "Why don't I join you in walking?"

"Are yeh sure? It's quite a ways." He wasn't kidding. It was quite a ways. In part he'd been hoping she'd agree to the cab just so he wouldn't have to walk it.

"Yes, I'm sure. I like walking."

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A/N: Review please!


	3. Home Again, Home Again

A/N: Sorry it took so long. AP Bio is killing my social life… or, rather, my writing life… if that makes sense.

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It was afternoon by the time Murphy entered the apartment. The walk had taken all the longer with the extra company, and of course they had to have something to eat.

"Took yeh long enough," Connor called to him from the couch as he came in. "I was beginning' ta think yeh'd been picked up."

"Eh, now," Murphy returned. "Yeh should know better 'n 'at. Me? Get picked up? I mean even if it's a possibility for _you_, when's that going ta happen ta me in a million years?"

"Ah, shut the fuck up."

But Murphy was in a good mood and he wasn't about to let such a good opportunity slip through his grasp. "Everyone knows I'm the dependable one. The one yeh can always count on ta make it out. _I'm _the faster. _I'm _the brighter." He pasued for emphasis. "_I'm _the older."

"Yer not fuckin' older, Murph, fer the last time. I wish yeh'd accept it. It's plainly obvious _I'm _the older one. An' all that other stuff along with it… Yer the cute one, the cute little baby."

"I am in me wick!" Murphy retorted, seeing the fight coming, welcoming it. "Gimme one good reason yeh think yer the older."

"It's a wrap in the snot-locker I'll be givin' yeh."

"Yeh will in yer shite!"

And then they were at it, brawling on the floor. But the brawl didn't last long. A ring from the kitchen called Connor in to answer the telephone. When he returned, he related, "That was Da. He says he's got another hit."

"Christ, they're comin quick now," Murphy replied. "I'm beginning ta get suspicious."

"Da said the same."

"Don' y'agree?"

"Aye. I agree."

"D'yeh think we should pass this one up?"

"Aye." They were quiet for a moment, just taking life in. "So where were yeh, anyways?"

"When? This mornin'? I had ta walk down ta Bowen," Murphy responded. "I met this girl on the train visitin' her friend an' I walked 'er there."

"Good little boy. Ma would be _so_ proud," Connor taunted him. "_I'm _proud, fer fuck's sake!"

"Fuckin' shut it, alright? She needed a guide."

"It was 'er diddies, wasn't it? Y'always did go fer 'em big."

"What the fuck?!"

"I knew it! I fuckin' knew it! What's 'er name?"

"I don' fuckin' know 'er name, Connor. I walked 'er where she was goin' an' I left 'er. I'm never fuckin' goin' at see her again. _And_," he added, "if yeh want the truth, hers were as small as a mouse's diddies!"

"Ohho!" Connor exclaimed. "Well, then I believe yeh! Yeh could never go fer a girl like that! Oh, no! Not _my _brother."

Murphy laughed and smacked him on the head. "We goin' ta the bar tonight?"

"No."

"We haven't been ta the bar in a week!"

"Trista might be there," Connor explained. "It's not safe."

"Oh fer Chrissake, Connor, get off it. It's Trista. She's not on our trail, yeh know that. Didn' yeh tell me we weren't in the center anyways, er anywhere near it? An' if she did suspect us, why the hell would she sleep with _you_?"

"She was drunk," Connor stated, watching the floor.

"Oh, fuck it, Con! This fuckin' shit has got ta stop!" Murphy was on a roll. "I'm tired o' havin' ta tiptoe around everythin' with the subject. An' I'm tired o' havin' ta go traipsing all around other bars. I'm tired o' all this shit! Now would yeh just get over it already and call her?! I know yeh want to. I know yer thinking' about it! That's all yeh do nowadays is think about her!"

"D'yeh wanta get caught? D'yeh wanta rot in jail? D'yeh want ta be someone's fuckin' bitch, Murphy, is that what yeh want?!" Connor exploded. "Wer not goin' ta the bar."

Murphy raged silently for a moment, clamped his teeth, breathed heavily through his nose. And then he turned and stormed out.

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A/N: I figure you can probably figure out the Dulbin slang from context clues. If you have problems, just say so. Review, please!


	4. Bowen Street

A/N: So how happy should you guys be that I wrote five chapters yesterday?! Really happy. So as long as I have time to get on the computer you can expect a new chapter every night. But then I'm going out of town for a while so there'll be a break. But there's an upside to that, too! I should be able to write a lot… hopefully. Well, anyhow. Here's the chapter.

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Murphy had meant to go down to McGinty's but by the time he'd gotten to the door, his resolve had faded. Connor had been right and he'd known it all along. It didn't matter that he'd wanted to go in; he'd _needed_ to stay out. But he'd also needed a drink. So down the street he'd once again begun to walk and round a few corners until he'd come to another bar. He'd only gotten through half a Guinness before he'd had to leave, however, disgusted. Disgusted at what, he did not know, but he was disgusted alright. Something was eating at him, though he didn't know what it was. And so he decided to do what he always did when he got this way, though that wasn't very often: take a walk.

The night was young -- well, young for him -- and the air was fresh -- or, as fresh as it could be in South Boston. He wandered aimlessly for a long time, from Lark over to Grimes and up Grimes and onto Lilly, right on Tudor, left on Dorchester, left on Bowen. And then he was walking past the building he'd dropped his charge off at earlier in the day… or was it yesterday by now? And then he was standing in front of the building he'd dropped his charge off at the previous day, wondering if she was still inside. It didn't really matter one was or another. If she was inside she most likely wasn't coming out, and if she was gone she most likely wouldn't be coming back.

He looked up at the window he'd seen her friend stick her hear out of. It was dark. Of course it was dark. Why wouldn't it be dark? But then… why should it be? Murphy' brain was running circles in his head. What was he doing? And why? Why was he doing this to himself? And why the hell had he walked? She'd known where she was going. Why the hell had he talked to her in the first place? There was something wrong with that picture. The MacManus brother had been raised right, meaning they'd been raised to be courteous and respectful… to an extent. But Murphy had never been one to go out of his was to help and old lady across the street. That was Connor. Murphy had always considered it none of his business. He didn't cuss anyone out on the street for bumping into him or spilling coffee on him, and he held elevator doors when people asked him to, but that was the extent of his chivalry. Why had he now gone out of his way? What had been different that had compelled him to talk to her?

It was a draw, a lure she had. And it was not. It was something familiar. No, not something familiar. It was familiarity. That was why he had spoken to her, started up a conversation. He never did that with anyone he wasn't familiar with. He rarely even did it with acquaintances. Then again, acquaintances were rare with the amount of good friends in the circles he ran in. But she was familiar to him somehow, as if he had known her before. But Murphy knew he had never met her before, except maybe in a past life. And what a ridiculous thought that was.

But that was it. That was all he had: ridiculous thoughts and a dark window. So why was he still standing there? He turned around and walked back the way he had come. It was time to go home.

At the end of the street he stopped and glanced behind him as a noise caught his attention. The door to the building he'd just been standing in front of was open and two figures were emerging from it. He turned to watch them and moved over to lean against the side of the building.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call you a cab?" the woman holding the door open was saying.

"No, no. That's alright." This voice was familiar. As always, familiar. "I remember the way from this afternoon. It's nice night. I want to walk."

"Alright then. Call me tomorrow. Bye."

"I will." And then she was off, striding down the street with that uptown confidence in her step. She may have lived down here, but she had been raised up there. That much was plain to see. And when did he ever meet anyone like that?

She was walking towards him with increasing speed, and as she passed he stepped out from the wall and greeted her. "A nice night doesn' always make a nice walk."

The girl started and gasped quickly, and her hand rose to her chest as her astonishment quieted. "Were you there the whole time?!"

Murphy only laughed, thinking she must be joking, but when he realized she was not, he responded, "No. No. I was takin' advantage o' the nice night myself." He stepped forward a bit more. "This neighborhood's got heart, but it's also got its problems. It's not the safest thing i' the world ta be walkin' all the way ta Broadway alone at this hour," he told her.

"So I've heard." Her tones was cold and wary.

"Yet yeh do it anyways." His was kind and caring.

"It's a nice night, and I'm willing to take a chance now and then."

"May I walk yeh?"

It was a bold question, considering her tone, and one she considered warily. But then… she was familiar.

"How do I know I'll be safer with you?" A just question.

"Yeh didn' have a problem with it this mornin'." A stupid response.

"It was daylight." An obvious answer.

"I guess yeh don't." A truth.

The girl thought for a moment before responding. "I suppose," she said, indicating assent.

It was a long and fairly silent walk. Once in a long while one would remark on a star or a building. Once in a while Murphy would see someone he knew and greet them, and then there would be a discussion about who that person was and how he knew them and sometimes a particularly intriguing anecdote here and there. Five blocks down the line, as they approached Broadway, there was another great lag in the conversation. And so Murphy said, "I've just remembered I don' know yer name."

"Anna," was her answer.

"Murphy," was his.

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A/N: Review, please!


	5. Freak Accident

A/N: Note to those of you who are new, I will soon be changing my penname to Judy Blue Eyes, if you haven't read that elsewhere.

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Five months later…

The door to Anna's apartment burst open as Murphy pushed through. Anna's keys dropped forgotten to the floor from her hand as she jumped up and wrapped her legs around Murphy's hips. He staggered backward, turned, and plunged forwards, smashing Anna up against the wall and readjusting his grip on her before he shoved open the door to the bedroom with his back and dropping onto the bed. His hands traveled from her legs up her torso and his lips traveled down. "Ah, Murphy, I-- Wha? Mur--" Anna stopped in realization. "Oh, God. It's my phone." And reached down into her pocket and tried to pry out her incessantly vibrating phone.

"Don't," Murphy said between kisses. "Just leave it."

"Murphy, it's driving me crazy."

"I thought _I_ was drivin' yeh crazy."

"Well you can't until this fucking phone stops distracting me!" She finally managed to slip the phone out as Murphy let up and rose off of her a bit. "Hello?"

"Fuck. I thought yeh were gonna take it out! I didn' think yeh were goin' ta answer it."

Anna made a shushing noise at him and continued her conversation. "Mom. Mom-- Calm down." Murphy sighed exasperatedly and got up from the bed. "Mon. No--. No, he's just-- Mom!" He sauntered out to the living room and pulled on the shirt that had been thrown aside in the all-too-forgotten frenzy. "Would you just listen to me?!" he heard Anna yell into the phone. He sauntered back to the bedroom and stood in the doorway. It wasn't long before they were done, and Anna hung up with a sigh. She threw the phone onto the nightstand and rubbed her temples painfully.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, a bunch of little things." Murphy moved forward and wrapped his arms around her, inviting her to explain. She accepted. "My parents are having a hard time of it. My father's business hasn't been doing to well for a while now. It's slowed up. The bad things aren't as bad, I mean… but now they're demoting my father." She paused and shook her head. "My parents aren't going to be able to keep the house. They're moving again. And this time downscale." Another sigh. "My mother is hysterical. I mean, my brother died almost a year ago in some freak accident, and she hasn't been completely stable since. Now… with all of this…" She stopped, neither knowing how to continue nor needing to.

In moments she'd forgotten it all… at least temporarily.

Half an hour later, Murphy and Anna were lying in bed staring at the ceiling. "It's still botherin' yeh, isn't it?"

She looked him in the eyes and nodded slowly, then sighed. "I have to make a call."

Murphy once again sauntered out to the living room and sat there on the couch picking at a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Snatches of conversation floated in to him and Anna paced to and fro past the doorway in the kitchen.

"D-E-L-L-A-R-O… Yes that's right. No, I don't have…. He's trying to come up with… Understand, but-- Can't you….. Okay. Okay. Thank you."

He heard a click and a sigh as she hung up, defeated. And then he heard her dial again.

"Aunt Sophie, it's Anna… Yes, I'm… Well, that's good to hear, listen… really upset and I… give me the number of… Thank you. I'll see you Sunday… my love, goodbye."

Again there was a click, but this time there was no sigh. She was obviously getting somewhere. Murphy abandoned the ice cream to the coffee table and switched on the TV. He was getting bored. He knew he should stay. He knew he should be there for her. But this stuff had never been his strong suit. He reclined on the couch and flipped through the channels. There was nothing on. Then, after a while, a word floated in from the kitchen and caught his attention.

"Yes, that's D-E-L-L-A-R-O-C-C-O."

He forms the words on his lips "Della-" came the whisper.

"Yes. Della Rocco."

He sat bolt upright. "Della Rocco?!"

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A/N: Review, please!


	6. Anna of the Rock

A/N: Well, I am glad you guys like the last chapter. It is getting into the actual meat of the story now, which is fun. And don't worry. There are more twists coming. This chapter is extremely short, so if you guys review I'll post another one later tonight. It's up to you. I have been writing a lot -- I'm so proud of myself! – so I'm kinda depressed I'm not going to be able to post for a while. Thus, I want to post as often as possible.

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"Della Rocco?! DELLA ROCCO?!" He stood from the couch and strode into the kitchen. "Della Rocco," he whispered to her.

"Can you hold on a minute?" She asked and held her hand over the phone. "What's going on, Murphy?"

"Anna…. Anna." He couldn't speak. He couldn't function. He couldn't think. "Who do yeh know named Della Rocco?"

"Me. I'm a Della Rocco, Connor. It's my last name?" And then there was a muted noise and Anna put the phone to her ear once again. "What is-- yes. Yes, I'm here. No, don't put me-- No. No. No, don't put me on--" And she stopped. "Hold…" she whispered. And then she turned to him. "Now look what you've done, Murphy."

"Della Rocco, Anna."

"Murphy, I'm just trying to make a few phone calls to help my family and you can't just wait?!" she cried. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Anna--"

"What the hell is wrong with you that you're doing this to me? Can't you see I'm just… I'm just…" But she didn't finish. She broke down in tears.

It wasn't hard for Murphy to see that although a bombshell had just been dropped on him, it wasn't the right time to bring it up. I was, however, hard for him not to. But that would just have to be put on hold for a while. For now, he would be here for her, like her should. And he would spend the night.

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A/N: Oh, by the way… Della Rocco, as close as I can tell, means "of the rock" which would make sense since people were named after their place of origin. Now I know French and Latin, and that's what I'm also basing this on, but not Italian, so if I'm crazy wrong, feel free to correct me. Also, review, please!


	7. Scrambled Eggs and Toast

A/N: Gosh, do I love posting. Here comes another gap that's been filled in in the timeline of the brothers' lives. I also love this interweaving thing. So fun. I think I love everything right now though. Okay, well. Onwards.

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The frying pan sizzled as Murphy cracked the second egg into it. Scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs and toast. He didn't know how to make much, but he did know how to make that. Anna staggered sleepily in from the bedroom. "Are you cooking me breakfast?"

"Actually, I'm caulkin' yer bathtub."

Anna smiled and poured herself a cup of coffee. Murphy knew how to make that too. That had been a prerequisite for his staying over. "Why are you making me breakfast?" she asked with a mischievous smile.

"What? Am I not allowed? D'yeh have an irrational fear o' other people cookin' in yer kitchen?"

"No… No…" She moved over to him. "It's just… you've never done it before." He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at her. She set her coffee down and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his back, feeling the muscles move there as her flipped and scrambled her eggs.

"Hand me those plates," he asked her and she did. Soon breakfast was served and they were sitting at the table enjoying slightly burnt scrambled eggs and dry toast. Anna was out of butter. After a time, when the conversation came to a halt, Murphy set down his fork and raised his eyes from his plate. "Anna," he said.

"Yeah?" She looked up at his tone.

"Why didn't yeh tell me yer a Della Rocco?"

"I don't know," she said plainly, puzzled as to the significance of the situation. "It never came up. What's the big deal?" She set her fork on her plate and cleared the table. "I don't know your last name. I thought that's how this was going to work."

Murphy stood and laid his hand on her arm to get her to look at him. "Wha'd'yeh mean 'how this was goin' ta work'?"

She turned to face him. "I like you Murphy, but I never really though this would be anything serious." She moved away from him, trying to keep the talk casual. "I mean you don't seem the type to--"

"Not serious?!" he asked with such betrayal in his voice she could no longer do anything but devote her full attention to the situation. "Anna, it's been five months!" His arms were flailing in the air, and she was backed up against the counter blinking tears from her eyes. "This is no one night stand!"

"I just thought we… were having a good run. I didn't… Did you think…"

Murphy ran his hand through his hair, his eyes shut to keep her from seeing the pain in them. "Alright. Alright. I'll just go."

"No, Murphy!" she called him. "No!" He stopped and turned about to face her. "Please." Now her voice was soft and pleading. "Don't go. I-- I need you."

"Fer what?! Sex?" he accused.

"No. Murphy… I just…" She scanned the room around her for support. "I only said that because I thought that was what you wanted. If you… If you are telling me now that you want something more than just sex…" A deep breath. "I'm in. "

Murphy wanted more than anything to scream at her, "Yer in? Yer in?! _Now _yer in?!" But he knew he couldn't do that. Already a smile was rising on his lips and relief was washing over him. "Yeah?" was all he ended up saying.

Anna only nodded, now beaming with as much joy as he. In the next moment, Murphy was striding confidently across the room. And in the moment after that she was in his arms. Everything was good again. More than good. Everything was perfect.

An alarm went off in the bedroom and the faint sound carried in to them. Murphy broke the kiss. "I have to go." Anna shook her head but did not protest. She had long ago learned that when Murphy said he had to go, he had to go. Disappointing? Of course. But it was for the best. He had work, after all. Strange work hours they were, but apparently it was a good job, because Murphy put up with them.

Murphy grabbed his jacket and moved towards the doorway. He stopped just outside the door. "I feel like I should say something," he said softly, "but I'm not so great with words, you know, not in these situations." Anna only smiled, wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him. After a time that was no where near long enough, Murphy pulled away from the kiss and backed out through the doorway. "I'll be seein' yeh, then," he farewelled with a nod and a lustful look.

"Be seein' ya," Anna responded with a mischievous smile and shut the door.

Murphy smiled devilishly at the thoughts running through his head about the next time they would see each other, before idling down the stony steps of the townhouse and out onto the street. It had been a memorable night. But now it was the day again and Murphy had business to attend to. Down the block, he knew, there was a drugstore, where he could pick up some sort of food for the day, before making the trek back home to do reconnaissance with his brother. So Murphy headed in the direction of the store, humming elatedly along the way.

A few minutes later he was browsing the single isle of frozen, freeze-dried, and processed food that inhabited the drugstore. Pretzels or chips? Pretzels or chips? Such a very important question. It was this that Murphy was pondering when a familiar movement caught the corner of his eye. "Trista?!"

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A/N: Oooooh. Where have we heard _that_ before? (in How it Falls for those who didn't read it) Well, Review, please!


	8. Trista

A/N: Have a nice week/weekend, guys, I know I will. I'll post when I return. Much love and happy reading!

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"Now I've done some horrid things to you all," she admitted once again. "But at least give me one credit. I came to love all of you like a family, and I came to be one of you. I pretended I was really part of that family, though it was deceit. And I came to love the Saints as family, too. Because they are a part of this neighborhood, at it's very heart and soul, whether no one or everyone knows their identities. The Irish take care of their own." Trista paused, looking deep into Connor's blue eyes, blue enough to match her own. "I quit the assignment, Connor. In fact, I quit my job. Because I knew deep down inside of me, that even if I ever found out who the Saints were, I could never really do it. I could never turn them in. The Irish protect their own."

There was yet another long silence ten as Connor digested her words. Trista watched him, knowing he was deciding whether to risk believing them or not. She had lied to him for two months and kept him clueless to the last. She had to admit, her acting skills were impressive. But could someone act a speech like that? Whether or not it was possible, she didn't know, but she did know that no matter how many classes she took or how much practice she had or how many lies she told, she never could.

Finally, Connor raised his eyes once again to hers, preparing to respond. Another minute ticked by before he spoke, but when he did, it was softly, painfully, captivatingly. "That was a pretty speech," he told her. "Now get out."

Connor collapsed onto the couch as she exited the apartment. He hadn't wanted to do that. He had wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, touch her, kiss her once again, just like that night. He had come so close that night… and then it had all fallen apart. There was nothing to do now but wait. Wait for Murphy to come back. Wait for the pain to go away. Wait for the next hit.

They'd become outlets for him, the hits, outlets for his despair and frustration. There was nothing he now liked more than to plunge head first into a fight uncaring of his health or his life. If a stray bullet cut the air, he would practically jump in front of it. Practically. He wasn't suicidal per say. He was just… upset. At this stage of pain, drink was no longer enough. And that is not to say he didn't drink. He did. Of course, he did. And he drank more than ever before -- another dangerous thing. He was drunk in the bar. He was drunk at home. He was even sometimes drunk on reconnaissance. Never on hits. No, he wasn't _that_ tortured, but he was drunk more often than not in any case. It was a miracle he hadn't been drunk just now when Trista had come with his brother.

But it was a miracle that didn't do much. And so he waited.

It was dark before Murphy got back, but there was another miracle in his return: he wasn't drunk either. Connor didn't know where he'd been but he hadn't been at the bar. Perhaps he'd been back to Anna's. Perhaps that was why it'd taken him so long. Surely otherwise he would have come back within the hour. Or perhaps he'd been away because he'd thought they would've reconciled and thought to give them a little space. But what space was needed between three good friends? Connor knew his brother saw the lust in his eyes when he thought of her, just as he saw the pain. And he knew Murphy wanted him to just get over the pain already and go with the lust. But Connor couldn't do that.

Connor was the levelheaded one. He always had been. He may have been the one to help an old woman across the street, but he was also the one who knew when to let her find her own way. He knew the ins and outs of the city by memory, because he was always planning escape routes. He may have been known to jump in front of a bullet now and again, but he was the reason they weren't shot on the street. Or, worse, picked up. No more McGinty's, he'd said. Not for a while at least. And Murphy had protested, but he'd known Connor was right. And what did they know now? She had been in there. And now there was another one, another spy, another undercover journalist lurking about following their every move. And what was Murphy doing? Gallivanting all around town with that naïve little girl, Anna. Connor'd never met her, no. But he knew he kind. He'd heard enough about her to know. She was carefree and she loved life, Murphy had told him. And Connor had known this to mean she was a child. Murphy would have fun with her, yes, would escape reality for a while, surely. But children don't play well with murderers. And murderers soon tire of their games. It was only a matter of time. It was only a matter of time before the whole thing blew up in their faces. But that was not now. And now there were other things to be spoken of. Murphy had Trista on the brain.

"Did yeh talk t'er?" Murphy asked her the moment he walked through the door.

"Yes," was all Connor had the heart to say.

"And?"

Prodding, prodding, prodding. Murphy was always prodding. Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone. This wasn't well enough to him. That was why, and Connor knew it. It wasn't well enough to Connor either. "And she tried t' explain."

"Tried?"

"It doesn' matter how she justifies it. It's not worth it; it's not worth the risk."

"Risk?"

'Enough with the one word questions!' Connor thought to himself. He did not respond.

"Connor, it's Trista!"

"Yes, I know!" Connor erupted. He was sick, so very sick, of hearing those words. "Trista. It's Trista, Connor. Connor, it's Trista," Murphy was always saying, as if that proved his point. It did the opposite is what it did. It proved how very much his dear Anna's naivety was rubbing off on him. "It's Trista. Trista, the journalist," Connor explained. "Trista, the journalist, who is lookin' t' expose the Saints. Yes, Murphy. Exactly. It's Trista."

And that was all.

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A/N: Review, please!


	9. David was a Good Man

A/N: Hello, all! I hope you enjoyed pondering the last chapter. I should have timed it out better. It could have been a bigger cliffie. Mwahahahaha! But alas, who has time for that? Alas and alack. Anyhow, something I found funny and meant to mention a while ago: Shortly after beginning this story I realized something amazing. Gravity is how something falls… or at least why it falls. In any case, I mean, the titles have a remarkable correlation. But I didn't do it on purpose, as much as I would like to take the credit. Both titles are words from the songs that inspired the fics. Soooooo…… Other than that more-than-amusing coinkidink, all I have for you is a new chapter. Enjoy.

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"Anna?"

"Hmmm?"

And then Murphy just sat groping for words.

"Murphy, what?" Anna asked him, concerned by his silence. She set the magazine she'd been reading down on the coffee table and walked over to where he stood in the hallway that separated the kitchen from the living room. Taking him by the wrist, she led him over to the couch. "Murphy," she asked him again. "What?"

"I think I knew your brother."

"What?" Anna let go of his wrist and sat back from him. "My brother?"

"His name was David. We called him Rocco, my brother and I."

Anna took a breath, a breath that seemed the first she'd taken in years. "You knew David?"

Murphy nodded. "Very well. We were very close," he told her, and then, "We were… we were with him when he died."

Anna stopped. She exhaled and all of the light and life drained from her face. "You can't have been," she breathed. "It was a car accident."

A moment of panic overcame Murphy, but he pushed it away. "I meant right before he died."

Anna was still pale and grey, and, "Oh," was all she could say. She moved slightly a moment later, fidgeting her way towards standing. Once she was on her feet she tottered to the kitchen like a newborn colt. She shakily took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. It clinked against the faucet as she filled it, and Murphy feared it might chip she was shaking so much. But he did not move. Anna brought the glass to her lips and drank a long drought of water. Then she turned back to the counter, set the glass down, and returned to the couch. "Tell me about my brother."

Murphy was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"He left home the day he turned eighteen," Anna told him. "And he didn't come back. There was a falling out between he and my father. I would meet him for lunch or just for a walk every now and again… but I didn't see him much, and when I did he didn't tell me much. I think he always had it in the back of his mind that I was still on daddy's payroll, so to speak." She tucked her russet hair behind her ears and asked for help. "So will you tell me who my brother grew up to be?"

Murphy sighed. What could he tell her about Rocco that she would want to know? He couldn't lie. But he couldn't tell the truth. "We worked with him for a while, Connor and I. He was a good worker. He was a good man." He shook his head. "He was funny, always joking. He… he was a good man."

They sat in silence for a while then, before Anna compiled the courage to ask what she wanted. And that was this: "Murphy… did he say anything?" she asked. "My brother. Did David say anything before he… before you left him?"

"What do you mean?"

"What… was the last thing he said… before he left?" she tried to clarify.

"His last words," Murphy said, understanding.

"It would mean a lot… for my mother."

Murphy hesitated, feigning pensiveness. Now there was no truth. Now there was no truth. Now he had to lie. And he would. "He said… he said he'd see us later at the bridge," Murphy told her. "We were going to meet there… and then go for a drink." Anna nodded. "I'm sorry it isn't anything better," Murphy said quietly.

But she only shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

There was a pause then before Murphy again repeated the one truth he could smile about. "David was a good man."

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A/N: Well? Review, please!


	10. The Bar Fight

It was early evening when the Saints set out. The hit this time was uncomfortably close to home, but it was also relatively safe. They did have home court advantage, after all. So out came the masks and the guns and down the street they went.

It was in an alley behind a recently-emptied tenement that Pavel Grigorovich would meet his cousin Nikolay for a hand-off of magnanimous proportions. The Saints knew security would be tight, so they couldn't meet them in the alley. A block down, they took their places, the two brothers chatting in a doorway, and the father having a smoke a ways away. The best place to hide is in plain sight. They hadn't known the exact time of the switch -- it was hard enough to get a location -- and so they had quite a time to wait before the first black car rolled languidly down the street. It was another twenty minutes after that before they heard another car coming and ducked into the building. Once it had passed, they crept out slowly, listening for the sounds that would tell them when to strike. The click of a door opening. The heavy clunk of the door closing. Another click, and another clunk. Then voices.

The Saints moved forward and peered around the corner. Pavel and Nikolay were moving towards each other. They'd strike, they knew, when they shook. There was a man at the door of each car and there would be a driver for each, but they suspected that was all, since it was a rather minor meeting and a reasonably secure location. Connor slipped across the alleyway to come from the other side. Then down behind the first jet black car he crawled, waiting for the first shot to be fired.

Pavel grasped Nikolay's hand in friendship, and they both smiled and patted each other on the back, relaxing. And that was when they struck. Two shots went off almost simultaneously and Everyone turned in the direction from with they had come. A third shot turned them all to face the cars as glass shattered and they knew a driver was dead. Pavel was hit, but not fatally, until the next shots came, at least. By the third set of shots, there was counter fire, and Murphy and his father were forced to seek cover. But a second shot from behind the cars drew the attention away long enough for them to get a fourth round off.

Then it was just Nikolay and Pavel's man standing. And they were being attacked from both sides. The Saints shot, and Nikolay went down. Now Pavel's man took one gun in each hand and let shots off like a manic until he was out of rounds. And halfway through a cry rose from behind one of the jet back cars. The two Saints on the other side of the car dispensed of Pavel's man, before running to Connor's side. He was hit, just like they'd known he would be. Now there was no time for coins or crosses, only time to run. And run they did. Each with one of Connor's arms slung over a shoulder, Murphy and Da made their way towards the best place they knew: McGinty's, two blocks away.

Before the door of the bar, Da split off. It wasn't that he wanted to leave his son, but more that he needed to keep his distance for the sake of their cover, for the sake of all of their lives. And so Murphy pushed through the door alone, dragging Connor along with him. As the great, heavy door burst open and shouts spread like wildfire about the pub, first from those entering, then from those few still drinking the night away. At the bar, Trista spun on her stool. When she saw them, she catapulted herself forward, pushing through the small crowd to take Connor's feet from Murphy. "Let 'em through! Let 'em through!" Patrick was yelling above the noise. Soon Trista and Murphy were laying Connor across the bar, pushing glasses, bottles, and peanuts all out of the way as they did so. Patrick, ever the quick thinker, was ready with a towel doused with vodka… that would be the unused bottle on the top with the yellow label. Whenever there was a hubbub like this, someone was hurt, and whenever someone was hurt, Patrick got to get rid of a little of his vodka.

The vodka-soaked rag went to Connor's side, the source of most of the blood, but it seemed one rag would not be enough this time. So Patrick ran for more towels, while Murphy mounted the bar and pressed the cloth deep into Connor's wound. Connor writhed about at the pain, and, were not some of the other men holding him down, would've rolled himself off the bar to dash himself to death on the ground. As it was he remained conscious only for a few more moments before the pain, coupled with a lovely blow he'd received to the head, dragged him under. Patrick wrapped his patron's head in gauze, which he happened to keep on hand for times like thee -- which were apparently not so uncommon among the Irish -- and then began to tend to his side. It was a gunshot wound, and Patrick was apparently multitalented.

Trista stood back and looked on with the other patrons as Patrick did his best to clean and bind the wound. Then, when all of the dirty work was done, and all that remained to be done was the cleaning up, she moved forward at last and questioned Murphy. "What happened?"

"Bar fight," he said distractedly.

"There was a gun?"

Murphy did not respond.

"Wait. Bar fight? What bar?"


	11. His Brother's Choice

A/N: So….. I feel kinda bad for Anna. Not because of the story… but because she may be getting the short end of the stick here. Trista just keep reappearing! But really I have no delusions in my head that this story is in any way the equivalent of How it Falls… but it's all for the good of the sequel. You will love Anna then. Anyhow. Here's my apology to Anna and… as far as I know Trista will only interfere once more.

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"How's Connor?" Anna asked as she poured them each a cup of coffee.

"Fine. He's just fine," Murphy told her. "He's gettin' better."

"What happened anyways? You never really told me." She sat down next to him.

"We were on our way ta the bar, an' there was a fight. Somebody had a gun an' just let it off with no real target, I guess." He was used to lying to her by now. Ever since their chat about Rocco, she'd wanted to know everything about his life, and everything about his brother. It had gotten easier after the first few times. And that was the saddest statement of all. "Things like this happen sometimes in a neighborhood like ours regardless o' the heart."

Anna nodded. "It's a pity." He didn't respond. "You don't agree?"

"Not really. Drinking… brawling… it's all part o' our lifestyle. We grow up on it. Someone probably just had a gun with 'em fer protection. It was an accident, I'm sure." Anna just raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"If it's all so safe and good, what did the guy need a gun to protect himself from in the first place?" Murphy just laughed to avoid answering the question, and Anna smiled. After a bit of silence, Anna spoke again, cheerily as usual. "Well, I think it's time I meet your brother. As soon as he feels up to it, I mean."

"Yeah?" Murphy shrugged. "Well, why don't you come down tomorrow instead of me coming up. Then you can meet him or a bit and we can go out after, so it's not too much for him." Murphy highly doubted it'd be too much for him, but he also doubted he'd be thrilled by the idea. Connor'd had something against Anna from the start. He thought she was taking up too much of Murphy's time. He didn't like her, even though he'd never met her. That was one of Connor's downfalls. Once he'd made a decision about somebody, nothing could deter him from it.

Anna nodded and smile. "Okay," she consented, and then, "So what does your father do for a living?"

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"What's goin' on tonight? You goin' out with the mot?"

"Mot?" Connor laughed.

"Or might as well be," was Murphy's response.

"No where near."

"Fine. Call 'er what yeh will. Yeh goin' out with 'er?"

"Aye," Connor responded. "Yeh comin'?"

"Aye. If yer not yernin' ta be alone."

"Wouldn' really matter anyways."

"Woman issues, lad?"

"Fuck off."

"Fuck yerself off," Murphy returned, and then, taking a swig of his beer, "Well, tomorrow yeh've got ta be home around noon. Anna's comin' down. She wants ta meet yeh."

"Oh, fuck, Murph. Why'd yeh--"

"Now shut the fuck up fer just one minute 'ere, while I explain. There's a reason she wants ta meet yeh, an' I'll be tellin' yeh in one minute. But first yeh listen ta me. I put this off as long as I could an' I even got yeh outta most of it. I told h'er yer still hurt from the bar fight."

"Oh, great, Murph. Now I'm a fuckin' weaklin', a fuckin' invalid."

"Jesus Christ, lemme talk! Now, serious now, Con. Serious."

Connor nodded. "What's it about?"

"Roc."

Connor looked up sharply. "It'll be a year soon," he said softly.

And Murphy responded, "I know." They both pondered this thought a moment before Murphy continued. "But anyways that's not what I meant ta say. Anna… she's his sister."

"What?"

"It's true."

"His sister?"

"Aye."

"He never said 'e had a sister."

"I know, but that's why she seemed so familiar ta me when we first met. An' that's the entire reason I'm with 'er now."

Connor nodded absentmindedly, deep in thought. After a time he finally lifted his eyes to Murphy's and asked, "So…? What does this mean?"

"I think it means…" Murphy said slowly, "her father's in the mafia."

Connor had thought of that too. He knew what he would do if their security were jeopardized, what he _had_ done, but he couldn't force his brother to make the same choice. "So what happens now?"

Murphy shook his head. "I don' know."

Connor sat watching him for a while, hoping he would say something more, hoping he would come to his senses and see the reality of the situation: that it could only lead to pain. But Murphy did not raise his eyes again and did not speak. He only sat there sipping his beer, thinking he could not make his brother's choice.

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A/N: Fyi, "Mot" means girlfriend. Also, I really like this chapter. It makes me endlessly happy. What do you think?


	12. Confession

A/N: Hey guys, so this is the revised version of this chapter. It has been revised along with Penance because L.R. Meriadoc was kind enough to inform me of the minutiae of Catholic Confession, of which I was not aware. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

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Murphy sighed and rolled away from Anna. "That was good."

"Good?" she teased. "Only good?"

"Great. Splendid. Fantastic," he smirked, and with a flamboyant wave of his arms, "Amazing. Transcendent. Je ne sais quoi! C'est-- C'est chouette! C'est super cool!" Anna laughed, and Murphy smiled. He kissed her and bent forward to blow raspberry kisses on her stomach. She laughed hysterically and rolled over, falling off the bed in the process. From there, a war was launched: a tickle war. After extensive battling, Murphy pinned Anna down, sitting on top of her and proclaiming his victory. Then he plopped down onto the bed next to her. "We should get up," he said after a while.

"We should," Anna responded, "but will we?" Murphy rose from the bed donned his day-old jeans. "Aw," Anna complained. "You're no fun."

"Well, we've got at get there early," Murphy responded. "We've got a lot t' atone fer."

Half an hour later they were pushing open the massive wooden doors of St. Sebastian's Catholic Church and sheltering inside from the cold. Their hands broke apart from where they had been holding them, and they parted, each going to their own confession booth.

A few minutes passed before the priest entered, and when he did, he turned to Anna's side first. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession."

"What is it you have to confess, my child?"

"I have had premarital sexual relations." Anna paused. There was no response from the priest. He was familiar with the statement. "And I have lied to my parents."

"A child should never lie to her parents."

"It wasn't much, only a little white lie, just to make them happy."

"There is no justification for a lie, daughter, especially to one's parents."

Anna sighed. "I know. I just wanted my mother to be happy for once, just for a moment. I found someone who knew my brother… before he died. He was with him then -- I mean, he was with him before he died -- and he told me what he said right before. But it was something really obscure that didn't make any sense… So I told my mother it was something different."

The priest was silent for a moment, and Anna knew he was pondering the sin, trying to escape the dead brother factor. She hadn't meant to use it, but she had. She always did. And he couldn't escape it. "Anything else?"

"No, that's all." There was a moment of silent expectation on the part of both parties before Anna remembered. "Oh. Ah…" She composed herself before continuing solemnly, "O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of thy just punishment, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who are all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen."

"Twenty 'Hail Mary's." And then he was gone.

On the other side of the priest, Murphy's head popped up as he heard the priest slide open the little wooden door that separated them. "Bless me, Father, fer I've sinned. It's been five days since my last confession."

"What is it, my child?"

"I've had premarital sexual relations." Once again the priest was quiet. "And… I've lied ta someone… ta someone who is very close ta me."

"It is never good to lie, my son."

"I didn't wanta hurt 'er."

"You cannot make excuses to God."

"I don't-- I don't mean to. I just… couldn't let 'er know what the truth really was. It would hurt her too much. It's all over fer her now, in any case. It doesn' matter."

"There is a Commandment against lying, my son. It is never inconsequential," and at Murphy's silence, "Is there anything else?"

"Yes." It took Murphy a long while to words his next statement. Then finally he decided on, "I've broken another Commandment. I have killed."

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A/N: The French Murphy speaks in this chapter is basically just a repetition of the English, like you would expect. Thought I'd mention that in case any of you were wondering.


	13. Skinnymalinks and the Mafia

A/N: Hello, all and welcome to the next chapter. I'll tell you ahead of time that skinnymalinks really just means a skinny person. Those of you who have read How it Falls will understand the reference. Otherwise… the whole idea just serves to emphasize how very childlike Anna is.

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Connor was in an awkward position when Anna arrived to meet him: he was washing dishes. They had to get done at some point. He threw the towel over his hands to dry them and rushed out to the living room. He hadn't originally wanted to meet Anna, but now that the meeting was inevitable, he had to admit, he was more than curious. As Murphy pulled away from their relatively chaste hello kiss, Connor took in the girl behind him. And girl she was. She had the slightest figure he could imagine without wasting away to nothing, with short brown hair that came down in waves to her shoulders and eyes so dark you couldn't tell where the iris ended and the pupil began. It wasn't that she was unattractive -- she wasn't -- but she wasn't what Connor would call his brother's type. A breeze flew in the open window, fanning Anna's waves out behind her and making her appear even more of a waif. Her lightly tanned hand was extended to shake Connor's, and Connor realized this only just in time to avoid embarrassment.

There was polite conversation then, before Murphy told Anna that they'd better be going and shooed her out the door. Connor caught Murphy's arm as he was about to exit behind her. "Well, she's a regular skinnymalinks, ain't she?! What happened ta real, Irish women?" he teased and his brother hit him on the head and left.

Two hours later, Murphy and Anna had exhausted the neighborhood in terms of non-bar entertainment, so they jumped in a cab and up to Anna's they rode. The cab dropped them off a few blocks away -- they had an affinity for walking -- and they began their trek up the street. They held hands while they walked, as they always did, chatting quietly about this and that. A doughnut shop came into view, and the waif-like Anna jogged ahead, beckoning Murphy excitedly to hurry up. After another five minutes, each emerged with a doughnut, Anna with two. She skipped ahead of him and then spun around, walking backwards to face him and she took alternating bites from each doughnut. He laughed at her childishness, and she laughed along with him. As they passed a record store, Anna stopped to dance in front of the window, eliciting cheers from a passing group of teenagers. Murphy looked away and kept on walking, feigning embarrassment. Having finished her doughnuts and her dance, Anna ran up behind him and jumped onto him back. He grunted in surprise, but caught her legs and carried her for another block. Then, she slid to the ground and fell into step beside him, beaming with joy.

"Anna," he said, after a moment of calm, his glance vacillating between her face and the road ahead of him, "I need ta tell yeh somethin'."

She jumped to attention, ready for anything, "What is it?"

He could tell from the tone of her voice she expected it to be something exciting… good exciting. He regretted that. "Your father…" he began, "he isn't a jeweler."

"Murphy?" she laughed.

"He's in the mafia."

"What?" The smile dies slightly on her lips. "Murphy? What are you talking about?" And then she was laughing again, thinking she understood the joke.

"I'm not kiddin' around now, Anna," he said quietly, looked in her the eyes. "All the money, all the promotions…. All the riches yer family've come from yer father's job… in the mafia. They come from crime.

"Murphy?" There was fear in her voice and her eyebrows were furrowed more deeply than he'd thought they could be.

"Anna," he addressed her, stopping on the sidewalk and taking both of her hands, "I swear ta yeh this is true. An' I know yeh probably won' believe me, but I swear to yeh, God as my witness, yer father is_ in_ the mafia."

There was a long pause then as Anna took in what Murphy had just said and decided on a course of action. Her brain seemed to be moving more than slowly, and she couldn't get it to move any faster, no matter how hard she tried. But once she found her conclusion, there was no stopping her tongue. "Murphy, how dare you swear by God! How dare you speak to me this way! Of these things! An how dare you swear lies in God's name!"

"Anna--"

"Get away from me Murphy MacManus, go down to your subway station and ride on home, and don't ever come back up!"

And that was it. It was over. And she was gone. So Murphy turned around and got on his subway train and went home to forget about Anna and continue nursing the wound that was Roc's death.

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A/N: So there it is, the little mini-climax. What comes next? Oh, I wonder. What do you think?


	14. Sunday Dinner

Anna let the door shut heavily behind her and tried to control her temper as she strode into the kitchen. Her mother was at the stove as she always was on Sundays, except in the summer when her father sometimes grilled. Sophia's back was turned, but she knew her daughter's gait and she greeted her with only a little less warmth than the stove could have managed. "Come now, come on. Take off your coat and set down your bag and help your poor mother with this dinner."

"I take it Aunt Paulina and Uncle Greg are coming in for dinner," Anna bit. Had they not been coming in, Anna would have been the guest, and therefore treated to drinks and pleasant conversation in the living room. But the new arrivals usurped her position, and now she was relegated to the kitchen like a common maid.

Thirty-seven and a half minutes later -- Yes, Anna was counting the whole time -- dinner began. Her father carved the duck, and her mother served. Thankfully, she wasn't required to wait hand and foot on the relatives. Anna was far too free spirited for that. She wasn't the Sunday dinner type in the first place. Coming back home to her parents' house, setting her napkin on her lap, keeping her elbows off the table, figuring out which fork to use first… Anna never had understood any of it. She'd been scolded as a child and she was scold even more so now, though less verbally and more by the evil eye.

"Paulina!" Mario Della Rocco exclaimed halfway through the meal. "I have something for you!" And he went into the back for a moment and came out with a velvet jewelry box, which he handed to his sister-in-law. "And one for you too, my little angel," he said as an after thought, handing a similar box to Anna. There was a gasp and a moan of joy from the other side of the table, where Paulina had opened her box and sat admiring her present.

"Oh, Mario! You are so generous."

Mario shrugged. "It is my job to take care of my family now that Papa is gone. Besides," he announced, "I made a big sale this week, very big, very wonderful, and I wanted to celebrate!"

"Look!" Sophia cried. "Look what he brought home for me!" And they all looked.

Then Anna's attention was called back to the box in her hands when her father exclaimed to her, "Anna! Open it! Open it! It's my gift to you! Open it!"

"Anna, you don't want to upset your father now do you?" her mother chastised. "Be a good girl and open your present."

Anna had completely forgotten about the box in her hands because of the torrent of thoughts running through her head. She looked down at it apprehensively, and opened it. Inside was a heart-shaped gold pendant studded with diamonds and a sprinkle of rubies, hanging from a slight gold chain. Anna held it up in front of her and was silent. The crowd took care of the noise for her. Ooohs and Ahhhs abounded, and the world was right again. "Put it on! Put it on!" the women were crying. She did not have to oblige. The pendant was snatched from her hands, and soon it was around her neck. "Oh, it's gorgeous! Mario you are fantastic!" And then the commotion was over and they could all go back to eating their roast duck.

This they did and then, when dinner was finished and the dishes were cleared, the men went off alone, saying they needn't bore the women with talk of business. David should have been there, in the other room, smoking Cubans and talking shop, Anna thought. "Not until you're eighteen," their father'd always told him. And then on his birthday there'd still been business to do, and the phrase had changed to, "Not tonight, son." And so he'd left, and he'd never come back. No wonder. No wonder. Anna had always thought this. No wonder. But the last thing she'd said to him at every meeting they had was, "Come home." She loved him. No wonder.

And now he was dead, and her father was still doing business after dinner in the sitting room. And she was still cooking and cleaning for the guests, long after her eighteenth birthday, the day she was promised she would also be a guest, long after she'd moved away and really was a guest. It had been a long time and things had not changed. And they would not soon. Anna knew this. She had known it for a long time. But she was not like her brother. And she did not need to leave. She would stay. Here, in the comfort of her own home, in the comfort of tradition and continuity, she would play along with her father's little white lies.

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A/N: So here we have our first glimpse into the world Anna lives in. How do you like it? What do you think? Does it make you feel differently about her? Review, please!


	15. Murphy being Murphy

A/N: A shorter one today. And guess who's intruding. At least she's not being all selfish and stealing the spotlight again, though. So here's Murphy being Murphy.

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"It's over," Murphy announced as he shut the door to the brothers' apartment.

"Over?" he heard his brother ask.

"Anna and I. We're over," he clarified. "She's gone."

"What happened?"

"I tried ta tell 'er--" he stopped, realizing the voice he had heard was not his brother's, and turned to look at the occupants of the couch. "Trista," he addressed her almost happily. "What are yeh doin' here?"

"Just… hanging out," she responded. "Murphy, I'm sorry about Anna. What happened?"

Murphy knew she would not switch subjects until she had some sort of response, so he went through it again, the lying. "It just wasn't…. worth it."

"What?" This time it was his brother.

Murphy just shook his head, and went into the kitchen for a beer. Connor gave Trista a look that told her to stay where she was and followed his brother out of the room. A hand on his shoulder made Murphy reluctantly turn about and look his brother in the eye. "What happened?"

"I tried ta tell 'er."

Connor just looked at him questioningly. Then a light went on in his head. "Tell her?!" he whispered harshly. "I barely know 'er! An' this concerns the both of us… and more, Da, and the whole-- the whole--"

"No, not-- Con, relax. Not that," Murphy told him. "I tried ta tell her 'bout her father… an' the mafia…"

Connor just watched him for a moment, thinking of what to say. Then finally he spoke. "Why?"

"Why?" Murphy looked around. "Because her father is _in_ the mafia!"

"Yes, I know that, Murph, but _why_ would yeh try ta tell her?"

Murphy look extremely confused. "Because her father is in the mafia."

Connor shook his head. "Yes, Murphy, but--" He sighed. "If she didn't know already she wouldn' believe yeh, that's obvious. And if she did believe yeh, she'd ask yeh how yeh knew. She might suspect yeh of crime. An' if she did already know an' still stayed at home with 'im, still maintained contact, then all she's goin' ta do now is run home an' tell her precious daddy who's out fer him and knows his position. And either way she'd obviously think yeh'd been datin' her just ta use 'er, just as a source. Murphy," he paused, trying to be delicate, "what the fuck were yeh thinkin'?"

Murphy ran a hand through his hair and then crossed his arms in front of him. "I'll leave you two alone." And he stomped back into the living room in his childish tantrum and moved towards the door.

"Murphy--" Connor called in a feeble attempt to get his brother to stay.

Murphy opened the door and turned just before her exited. "I was thinkin', 'Gee, wouldn' it be nice ta help the woman I love?' That's what the fuck I was thinking!"

"Murphy, don't--" But then he was gone.

Trista looked up at Connor from her place on the couch. "What's going on?"

Connor shook his head and sat down next to her. "Just Murphy, bein'… Murphy."


	16. Little White Lies

Two weeks later…

Once again, Anna was cooking with her mother when the guests arrived. Tonight they were hosting Antonio and Angelina Giabella, as well as their son Mauritzio and his wife Janice. Normally Sunday dinner was reserved for family, but, luckily, Antonio and Angelina claimed the lofty position of second cousins once removed and were permitted. The dinner was much the same as the one the previous week, or the one before that, or the ones they had been having for years and years. And after there was dessert, and then coffee. Today, it seemed, the men weren't in as big of a rush to go talk business over cigars. Btu once they did, Anna and Sophia once again cleared the dishes and were joined today by Angelina and Janice, who, being women and thus accustomed to doing dishes, wanted to help. The dishes were finished a whole lot faster this way, even though each one had to be carefully washed by hand, since the good china brought over from Italy was always used for Sunday dinner. So, when the dishes were done, the women returned to the dining room to chat and gossip about trivial things, mostly having to do with their extensive, convoluted, Italian family.

After a few minutes, Anna excused herself, thinking she could take no more chatter. She walked off towards the bathroom, trying to squander a laugh as she remembered her mother's last comment. In the bathroom she picked up one of the seashell-shaped soaps and turned it over in her hands. It was blue and smelled like forget-me-nots. She set it down and stared at herself in the mirror. She tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear and inspected the scar she'd had since she knocked her head against the coffee table at three and a half. There she just looked herself in the eyes again. Extensive, convoluted, Italian family. She rubbed a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her mouth. Business over Cubans. She pulled her hair out of its pins and ruffled it. What business did they talk about anyways? Her father was a jeweler, her uncle was a butcher, Antonio was an insurance consultant, and Mauritzio was saving up to start a restaurant. What did _any_ of those have in common? She slapped her own face and then splashed it with water. What was she thinking? She had to get back.

But on her way back to the dining room, she stopped in front of the door to her father's study and looked in. It was dark, but even in the dark she could tell it was immaculate. She'd never been inside. She'd never been allowed. And now, for some unknowable reason, she set one foot inside. And then she took it out. She may not understand them, but she never broke her father's rules.

Never.

And that was that. Her mind was made up, and in she went. She wasn't looking to do anything in particular, just dance around a bit. And that is exactly what she did. The monkey, the mashed potato, and the twist, and then she was done. She looked around, leafed through a few notebook, and stopped at a notepad on the table. She read the note. "Gibralter Street, 5:00" And then below it. "Paulo Chiapetti." Anna stopped breathing. Extensive, convoluted, Italian family. Business over Cubans. Paulo Chiapetti.

Paulo Chiapetti had been killed at five a.m. that morning in a roofing accident.

And her father was _in_ the mob.

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Sunday was an off day for the brothers. They never did any work on Sundays even if they did find a tip. It was just out of respect. They never went to the bar either, though that didn't mean they didn't drink. So when Anna showed up at their door with tear-stained face and ruffled hair, they were just sitting home, conversing. Connor opened the door, expecting it to be Trista, just dropping by for a beer. The sorrowing girl at his door was a complete surprise and he had to do a double take to recognize her. "Anna?"

At that, Murphy leapt to his feet and bounded over to the door, pushing his brother out of the way. "Anna!" He stopped just short of hugging her. "What're yeh doin' here?"

"You say my father is in the mafia?" Murphy watched her intently, fearing each and every one of the things Connor had suggested might happen and more. "I say he's an underboss." Anna had to pause to fight back tears. "My uncle, my cousins, my grandfather, they're all in," she told him. "And my mother knows. And my Aunt Paulina." She shook her head. "What do I do?"


	17. Penance

A/N: Okay, so this is the revised version of Penance. Much thanks to L.R. Meriadoc for informing me about the Act of Contrition and such. It has now been included both in this chapter and in Confession. Also I would just like to let you all know that since I was redoing this chapter anyways, I looked up churches in Boston so I could use a real one. Well, you will notice the church name has not changed. That is because apparently ALL of the Irish Catholic Churches are extremely far from the South Boston area and ALL of the Italian Catholic Churches are within it. How that works, I have no idea, but until someone who lives in Boston volunteers a better Church name, St. Sebastian's it remains. Anyways. I'm shutting up now.

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"Was my brother… was he a… did he…" Anna's halting words echoed in Murphy's mind as he entered the church, his hand frozen in hers. He shook his head, though unconsciously. "No," had been his response. And it always would be. Now they were once again entering the great wooden double doors of St. Sebastian's Church.

Anna entered the confessional first, and this time Murphy waited outside. The priest was already inside. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a day since my last confession."

"What brings you here so soon, my child?"

"I have… lied to my parents…"

"Yes, child?" Apparently this priest was not as pitted against lying.

"And I have… disobeyed my father."

"Yes, child?"

"And I have… betrayed my father."

"Yes… child?"

"And…" Anna began her last confession, "I have met a murderer."

The priest was silent.

"He is my father."

The priest was silent.

"What do I do?"

The priest was silent. It was a silence he had learned well. In a neighborhood like this one, devout, but sinful, he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. And so, when he spoke, it was only to say, "Twenty 'Hail Mary's."

"What?"

"Twenty 'Hail Mary's," he repeated. "Thirty if you want."

"But--"

"Twenty 'Hail Mary's. You cannot ask for more from me. Your answer lies with God." And then he slid the panel back into place over the mesh screen. Anna exited the booth reluctantly, more than puzzled by her penance. She had hoped to receive more than that. She had hoped to receive an answer. She had received twenty 'Hail Mary's. She traded places with Murphy, and proceeded to perform her penance.

"Bless me, Father, fer I 'ave sinned." Murphy said it automatically as he sat down. It was a line oft repeated, rarely remembered. "It has been a day since my last confession."

"Yes, my son?"

"I've taken the Lord's name in vain."

"Yes?"

"I've lied ta someone I love."

"Yes?"

"An' I've lied… fer someone who has killed." He took a heavy breath. "Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutas promeritus sum, sed praesertim quia offendi te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super omnia diligaris. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia tua, de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen."

"Twenty 'Hail Mary's." And it was over. Murphy knew the ways of the church. He accepted it… and walked away. He would take care of his penance later. For now, he had Anna to take care of.

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A/N: By the way, all that stuff Murphy says in that foreign language? That's the Act of Contrition in Latin, in case you were wondering.


	18. In the Lion's Den

A/N: Wow. Look at me whipping this chapter out, eh, Katie? Gee, never thought I'd be able to do that. Well, let's see if I can get another one out before this streak wears off.

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It was late and the candles flickered weakly on the table. The men had long since retired to the sitting room for cigars and business talk, and the women were admiring the new décor in the spare bedroom. Anna was molding a soft piece of wax she'd pulled from one of the dripping candles between her fingers. She sat slumped over her half-eaten dinner, her chin resting heavily on the hand that was not preoccupied by the pleasures of moldable candle wax. She dropped the piece of wax disgustedly; it hard hardened too much to be of use to her anymore. She picked up her fork and shoved her food around her plate. She was repulsed by the thoughts running through her head, the names that rose unbidden to her lips.

Her stomach roiled. The whole thing was making her sick. How was she supposed to go on coming to these ridiculous family dinners with a secret like this on her hands? How was she supposed to keep her dinner down in the face of her family's none-too-discrete transgressions? How was she supposed to honour those who acted to cruelly. That was a Commandment, right? Honour thy mother and father? And how the hell was she supposed to do that? But then… thou shalt not kill was another Commandment. And where did it say which one was more important? No where that she knew of. Well, there. That was helpful.

So she had a choice to make. And no time to ask the advise of someone more versed in the words of God. "Not that that would help," Anna whispered satirically to herself, chuckling like a maniac. "This is ridiculous," she told herself aloud. "Ridiculous!" She brought her fists down hard onto the table, then ran her hands through her hair with a frustrated moan. She rose from the table and took her plate into the kitchen, where she scraped off the leftover food and set it in the sink.

Anna reentered the dining room and blew out the sputtering candles. As the smoke cleared, the roost filled with the echoes of boisterous laughter from the hallway. "Anna," her mother was calling her, "Come say goodbye to your cousins." And so she did as she was told, entered the hallway, kissed her cousins goodbye, and quickly retreated to the kitchen, where she busied herself washing dishes to escape her mother's scornful eyes. "I'm disappointed in you, Anna."

"What now, Mother?" she responded with more fire than she'd planned.

Sophia stepped back with her hands on her hips. "If your rudeness at dinner wasn't enough, now you're talking back to me? Anna, what is going on with you?"

"Nothing, Mother. I just-- Hey, how was I so horrible at dinner anyways? I excused myself. I said I wasn't feeling well." Anna forsook the dishes.

"You seem to be feeling much better now," Sophia accused, taking up the dishes automatically. Anna just crossed her arms over her ribs indignantly. "Anyways, you could at least have come to look at the new furnishings. You haven't seen the room yet. It would have been common courtesy. Anna, I don't think it's much to ask that you be kind and cordial one night a week."

"One night a week?" Anna shot out at nothing. "Kind and cordial one night a--" She muffled a screech of rage and stormed out of the room.

Her father entered as she exited, to follow her a few moments later with a look of severe distaste on his face. "Anna, go apologize to you mother."

"For what?"

"For your insolence. It will not be tolerated in this house."

"Fine. Then I'll leave."

She could not even storm out of the room before he stopped her in her tracks with, "You will do no such thing."

She paused for a very long moment before spinning on her heal and biting the bullet. "Or what?" she asked, her voice dripping with scorn. "Or you'll have be whacked or offed or whatever the hell you call it?! Or I'll be swimming with the fishes?! And it's fish, fyi!"

Mario furrowed his brows and pretended innocence. "What are you talking about?"

"Paulo Chiapetti."

"Who?"

"Paulo," she repeated. "Paulo Chaipetti. The one you had killed? Talk about common courtesy. You don't even remember his name."

By this time Sophia had joined them in the dining room and was standing a little off to one side watching the confrontation. She gasped at the mention of killing, but did not intervene.

"Anna," Mario said slowly in warning.

"No!" she stopped him. "No, don't deny it. And don't chastise me for pointing out the truth. Because it is! It is the truth. I didn't believe it at first, but I saw it. I saw it with my own two eyes, all the evidence, all the secrecy. And all I can think of is how did I not see it before?!"

"Anna," came the slow warning once again.

"No! Don't 'Anna' me! Don't 'Anna' me! No!"

"Anna!" And this time it was more than a warning. It was a command. And Mario Della Rocco's commands could not be ignored. "You will support--"

"No!" she screeched, but her protest was cut short by a harsh sound cracking through the air. Anna reached up and lightly touched the place where her father's hand had come in contact with her face. She had no doubt that it was bright red. It certainly burned enough. Before she could mount another crusade, gather courage for another attack, he was speaking. And this time she knew she could not stop him.

"You will respect your mother and I," he told her firmly, coldly, with Sophia standing behind him to show her support. "We have given you everything. You will do as we say."

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Three hours later, Anna cracked the door of her room and peered out. She had been told rather than asked to stay there for the next few nights. She supposed they wanted to keep an eye on her. But she was an adult and she would do as she wanted, as she judged was right. So after her parents had gone to bed, she had set about packing the few things she kept at her parents house for nights like these, when se stayed over, usually because she was either too tired or too buzzed to go home. Now she slipped out her bedroom door and set the bag down just outside of it. Tiptoeing down the hall to her parents' room, she listened for signs of life. A few doors down the hall from that, she listened at the maid's door. The house was dead. And so, duffle in hand, she left her parents house. This time, for good.

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A/N: Oh, jeepers. I just paged down and realized how long this it. Now I'm really proud of myself. Well, here's to ktkakes for sparking this outpouring of words. And here's to more outpourings to come.


	19. Unbroken

A/N: Hey guys. So, I've revised chapters 12 and 17, Confession and Penance, because I have been informed of the minutiae of Catholic Confession. It doesn't change the story at all, but I thought I'd let you guys knowin case you care. 

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A knock on the door elicited a moan from Connor. "Your turn," he told his brother lazily.

"Ach," Murphy replied. "Your fuckin' turn."

"I got it fer Trista."

"That doesn't fuckin' count. She's yer girl."

"Well I didn' fuckin' know it was her when I opened it, now did I?"

"Fuck. Alright. Al-fuckin'-right," Murphy said, giving in to the second, more demanding knock at the door. He rose slowly from his seat, taking a swig of his beer as he did, and sauntered over to the door. "Well, yer out late," he said innocently upon opening the door. "I didn' expect yeh."

Anna gave him a weak smile. "Can I stay here?" It was barely a whisper, but audible enough.

"Yeah. Yeah," Murphy assented, ushering her in. "Of course you can."

Connor had slightly resentfully gotten to his feet to greet her. "Hello, Anna. How are yeh tonight?"

"Um. Not great, Connor. Not great. Listen, Murph…" she paused as she turned to him, swallowing the lump that still kept residence in her throat. "I talked to my father." At this, Connor perked up. "I can't go home."

Murphy nodded. "Yeah. That's fine. That's alright." He looked to his brother for assent and, when Connor did not immediately respond, he said, "Isn't that right, Con. That's fine, eh?"

"Yeah. That's fine," Connor responded, his voice hoarse and the words ending as a whisper.

Murphy watched his twin for a moment more, confused by his tone, before turning back to Anna. "Here, give me your bag and… yeh can sleep on the couch. I'll get yeh a pillow."

"No, Murph," Connor interjected. "She can take my bed. The couch is no place ta sleep. In fact, yeh know what? I'll just… I'll go at Trista's. Then yeh can 'ave some time alone. An'… I'll see yeh tomorrow."

"No, Connor, I'm sorry. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. _I'll_ go. It's alright," Anna told him pulling her bag from Murphy's hand and moving quickly toward the door.

Murphy jumped in front of it. "Yer not goin' anywhere," he told her firmly. "yeh just said yerself yeh can't go home. An' I'm not takin' a chance on where else yer goin' ta go."

"He's right," Connor said softly from across the room. "It's no trouble fer me at go ta Trista's. An' if yeh talked ta yer father…" He shook his head. "I'll be back around noon." And then he left.

Anna let her bag go reluctantly as Murphy took it from her. He crossed the room with it and set it in the bedroom. Anna did not move. She crossed her arms over her ribs and stood there, waiting for nothing. "Anna," Murphy said softly, crossing back over to her. He put a hand on her back as he came round in front of her and noticed for the first time the slight redness on one cheek. She sucked in air quickly through her nose and tensed slightly as he touched it lightly with the back of one finger. Her hand immediately rose to her mouth, and he pulled her close just soon enough to catch her as she fell apart.

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By the time Anna rose the next morning, Murphy had already been to the store and had prepared breakfast for her. A fruit and yogurt parfait. She had trained him well. As she took her seat at the table, he set a glass of orange juice before her and took his seat next to her. "An' how are we this mornin'?" he asked brightly.

"As well as can be expected," was her reply.

"Mmm," Murphy replied. "Well. Let's hope we can continue t' expect better." Anna smiled for him. The rest of breakfast was silent as Murphy sat watching her eat, if eat you could call it. In reality, Anna only picked at the parfait. It didn't matter that he'd served her favourite breakfast. Anna was beyond this facelift of a solution. So, ten minutes later, when even her picking slowed and then ceased, Murphy just took the bowl from in front of her silently, set it on the counter, and reclined against the counter, watching her.

"I'm sorry," she said, not daring to look at him.

"Don' worry about it."

"It's stupid."

"No, it's not."

"You have no idea."

"I have some." There was silence for a moment as Anna shifted uncomfortable under Murphy's gaze. "So yeh talked ta yer father." Anna nodded. Murphy nodded along with her. "An' yeh can' go back ta yer apartment." Anna continued  
nodding. "I trust it went well, then." Anna smiled in spite of herself. Murphy sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "So yeh can' go back ta yer apartment because they know where it is."

"They have a key."

Murphy nodded. "An' yer really afraid of what they'll do ta yeh."

"What d'yeh mean?"

"Yer they're daughter."

"You didn't see my father's face."

Murphy sighed and rubbed his temples. "Yer right."

A moment of silence brought truth to Anna's lips. "He slapped me," she said matter-of-factly. "He'd never once slapped me before in my life, no matter what I did."

"Yeh think he might hurt yeh." Anna did not respond. "Anna?"

"I don't know."

Murphy reclaimed his position next to her. "Well… how 'bout we go get yeh a new apartment?" Anna smiled and leaned into him as he put his arm around her. "We don' wanta be around 'ere anyways. Connor's goin' at be back soon an' believe you me he won' be in a good mood."

"Why? Something wrong there?" Anna asked with an innocent sort of concern.

Murphy shook his head and chuckled. "Always." They just sat quietly for a moment, enjoying each other's company. "Yer goin' at be okay, yeh know that?"

"Yeah," Anna replied contentedly. "I am."

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A/N: Review, please!


	20. Worlds Collide

A/N: Hello, all. Sorry it's been so long. Thanksgiving. SATs, again. College apps. Now I'm getting carpel tunnel. Life is so unfair. Seriously. What am I going to do when I can't type? I hate the world. Lol. Well, I've managed to get this one chapter done by procrastinating some more on my other work, so enjoy.

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Two days later, Murphy kissed Anna goodbye and exited out the back. They had been being followed ever since Anna'd snuck out of her father's house. Tonight, he planned to change that. So now he was sauntering out of the back of the building, keeping natural, but also making sure to stay generally out of sight. So Mario Della Rocco was a mafia underboss. So he had resources the MacManuses could only ever dream of. That didn't mean he had any right to destroy his daughter's life. One of his children had already been destroyed by his lies and schemes, but this time Murphy knew better, and he would not let it happen again.

He reached the corner of the building and peeked around. No one. He turned down the alley. It was getting progressively darker as he walked away from the street. Dark was good. No one would come in the dark. As he reached the next corner, Murphy slowed. Again he peered around it, more cautiously this time. And there he was, pacing back and forth a short distance off, speaking quietly into a cell phone. In Italian.

Murphy took a few utterly silent steps towards him. Then the man hung up. Murphy leapt forward, taking no chances, and pinned him to the ground. "Don't make a sound," he ordered, his hand pressed tightly against the man's mouth. The Italian was breathing hard, looking up at Murphy with fear in his eyes. Murphy could tell he'd been completely caught off guard. He would talk. "What is yer name?" He slowly lifted his hand from the man's mouth. The Italian shook his head. Murphy shook him roughly and moved his gun from where it had been pointed at his head to point at his shoulder. "What," he rasped slowly, "is yer name?"

"You won't," the Italian spat, regaining his composure. "You can't take the chance that I'll scream."

Murphy smirked. "Yeh don' know me like yeh think yeh do." He chuckled. "See, that girl up there is someone I care about very much. Very much. And yeh know how I take care o' people I don' know. Good people, that is. Well, just imagine how I take care o' people I love." He paused, considering how far he should take his speech. "Now, I once had this friend, yeh see. Got so caught up in all this fuckin' mob shit." He shook his head. "They jus' used him and fuckin' used him… until they killed him. Now I wouldn' want that ta happen ta poor Anna, would you? But I guess it happens t' a lot o' people." He feigned consternation. "Say, how old are yeh?" He waited for a moment, giving the man time to answer. The Italian was silent. "Don' suppose they're cheatin' yeh, are they? How long've yeh been a lackey? Hmm? How many years have yeh put in? Now, I could kill yeh now. I could end it all… But that wouldn't be interesting. That wouldn' be a betrayal. Tell me what yer name is; tell me who yer workin' fer, I'll let yeh go. I'll let yeh get yer betrayal."

"They won't betray me. I'm coming up. I'm up for a promotion soon."

"Ah, well then!" Murphy remarked sarcastically. "Yeh'll be wantin' ta get back fer yer promotion!" He leaned in closer to the man, sobering. "Why don't yeh tell me yer name, so I can let yeh go?"

"You won't let me go. Who do you think you're kiddin'?"

But Murphy could see that the man was faltering, wondering if they really was any promotion. "Let me tell yeh a little secret about this friend o' mine. He was Anna's brother." A look passed momentarily over the Italian's face. "Yeah, that's right. Mario's son. Now if Mario's son isn't safe from that sorts thin', what makes yeh think you are? Are yeh someone's son?" He let the thought hang in the air for a moment. "Nephew?" Another moment. "Godchild?" Murphy relaxed slightly. He didn't have to say he didn't think so for the words to ring in the Italian's ears.

He swallowed. Murphy pressed the gun deeper into his flesh. "Three." The Italian looked confused. "Two." The Italian panicked. "One," Murphy whispered.

"Okay! Okay!" Murphy clamped his hand over the other man's mouth again. When he removed it, the Italian was silent, just sucking breath in an out of his lungs. Murphy pressed the gun in once more. The Italian said quickly, in a harsh whisper, 'Joey! They call me Joey!"

"What's yer full name, Joey?"

"Joey-- Joseph Lucarelli."

"Who d'yeh work fer?" Joey hesitated. "It's Mario, isn't it Joey? It's Mario, I know it. Come on. It's over now. I know yer name. I can just go ta Mario an' tell 'im yeh betrayed him. Then yeh won' get yer promotion. Mario. Just say the name. All yeh have ta do it say the name. It's just a short little name, now. Come on. Mario."

"Mario."

"Mario Della Rocco."

"Mario Della Rocco."

"An' what are yeh doin' fer him?" At Joey's second hesitation, "Come, on, now, Joe. We've been over this. It's all over now. What are yeh doin' fer him?"

"Watching his daughter. Watching Anna."

"What does he wanta know?"

"Where she lives… where she goes… what she does… who she's with…"

"An' yeh've told him?" A nod. "Good boy. Now Joey, I need yeh ta do somethin' fer me, a'right?" Another nod. "I need yeh ta tell Mario his daughter's not comin' home. An' I need yeh ta tell him something else, too. I need yeh ta tell 'im if he doesn' leave her alone, I'll tell her about David. An' I know he wouldn' want that ta happen. She'd never love him again. And somethin' more, Joey. Just once thing more." He paused, his tone changing. "I he touches one hair on her head, I will hunt him down and send him ta God fer his punishment." An he pulled the trigger of his gun.

A scream ripped through the air before Murphy could knock Joey unconscious. By the time the first passerby came jogging up the alley, he was gone.


	21. A Comforting Thought

A/N: Woot! Chapter up! With Christmas vacation coming, I'm hoping to finish quite soon. I suck. I know. I apologize. Anyways. Enjoy the chapter.

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"Murphy?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think we're meant to be together?"

Murphy pulled himself up onto his elbows from where he was lying on the bed. "What?"

Anna sat up next to him, trailing her fingers down his chest as she elaborated. "I mean do you think maybe all of this happened on purpose?"

"All of what?" Murphy said with a nervous laugh.

"All of _this_. All of you and I," she responded as though it were an explanation.

"All of… you and I…?"

"Yeah. All of you and I." Murphy sat up the rest of the way and rubbed his face. His back was now to her and she leaned forward into his peripheral vision. "I mean you knew my brother, you were great friends…" she began hastily. "And that alone is a great coincidence. But without you I would probably never have known the truth about my family. And perhaps you were meant to tell me that."

"Anna…" Murphy mumbled through his hands.

But Anna continued her explanation to stop him from speaking, as if it would persuade him to say something different. "Perhaps we were meant to meet on that subway train. Perhaps you were meant to go for a walk on Bowen Street just as I was leaving. Perhaps, even, my friend moved here so that I would have reason to come down. But then perhaps all of this is happening because of something else that is to come. Do you think God has it all planned out for us, what we do, what we say, who we meet? Do you think He wanted us to be together, Murphy? Do you?"

"Anna…"

"Because that's a good thought to think, isn't it, Murphy? That's a very good thought to think. I like to think it. It's a great comfort to me. I mean when I'm thinking of my family and how I won't be seeing them anymore and all, well it's a comfort to think that God wanted it that way. Because He loves me. He loves all of His children and He wouldn't want anything bad for me. And if He wants it, even if it seems bad now it's got to be for some good in the end, right? I mean, God is our real father and what sort of father would want anything but good for his children? I mean there's lots of times when kids hate their parents for not letting them stay out late or go to a concert or something, but their parents do it for a reason and it always turns out alright in the end, right?

"Well, right. So I think it's nice that God wants us to be together. I mean, that means we'll succeed, right? We'll get through everything, you know? Because we've got the Almighty behind us. And what does that say? A lot. That's what that says. And I really believe it, you know? I really believe it. I really think we'll be okay in the end. Because I mean I'm a good Catholic and you're a good Catholic. And God will take care of us. We've got a place in the world, you know? And we've got a place in heaven. And we'll be fine. No. We'll be more than fine. Because whatever on earth can separate us, nothing can stand in the way in God's kingdom. He will take care of us. He will. And we'll be fine, right? So I was just wondering if you'd every thought about it… Because I've thought about it. And it's nice to think about."

Her speech ended abruptly and she sat awkwardly waiting for Murphy to answer. After a few moments, she broke down. "Murphy?"

"Oh, it's my turn now?" he said, raising his head from his hands. "Cause this all started with a question and it's been about ten minutes and I haven' answered it. I was beginning to think it was rhetorical."

Anna smirked. "Sorry."

Murphy did not respond.

"Oh, it is. Yes, it's your turn now."

Murphy chuckled. "I got that. I was sorting through to find the question to answer or something to say at least or where to start first."

"Ah," Anna nodded nervously.

It was a long while before Murphy responded. And when he did, he didn't have much to say. "It is a comforting thought," he told her, thinking to himself of the hypocrisy of it all, the ridiculousness of the speech she had just given him. What a good Catholic he was going around killing people. Sure, he did what he thought was right. He did what he felt God told him to do. But a good Catholic? Not in the traditional sense of the word. And what sort of a father didn't want the best for his kids, would intentionally hurt them, he didn't know… but he'd met one or two in his time and so had Anna. Sure it was a comfort to think God wanted them together, just as they were now. It was a comfort to think they were on the right path. But it was only something to think. It wasn't something to know. Not even that deep instinctual knowing in your gut. She hadn't said know, had she? No. She hadn't ever used the word. Only think. And that's all it was. A thought. Murphy knew because he thought it too. Though it but not knew it, not felt it. It was what it was. And comfort wasn't much to wipe out reality.

"That's it?" Anna asked, quite obviously disappointed. "All of that and all you say is 'it's a comforting thought'?"

Murphy shrugged. "Yup."

"Well…. Well…" Anna groped.

"I have to get going," he said, rising from the bed and pulling on his jeans.

"Murphy?!"

He stopped and turned to look her in the eyes. "We all have a purpose, Anna," he said and shrugged on his shirt.

"What? That's it? That's all?"

The door shut.

"What does that even mean?!"

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A/N: Review, please!


	22. Isolated Rain

A/N: Yay! I've finished this story! That means you get to, too. I'll post the rest of the chapters as soon as I get some feedback on this one. Have fun!

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Murphy sat at the bar in McGinty's tapping the wood with his index finger. "What's eatin' you?" Patrick asked as he came over with Murphy's Guinness. Murphy shook his head and took a swig of his beer. "Girl troubles?"

"Yeh could say that." He'd just come from Anna's and was in no shape to talk. She thought they were meant to be together? She thought they'd always be together? She thought he was the best thing that ever happened to her? What was she thinking?!

"She's a pretty one, that girl o' yours. Still the same one you brought 'round here a while back, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What's got you so down about her?"

Murphy sighed. "Nothing but the wind."

"What?"

"Just piss off, a'right? I asked fer a beer not a fuckin' therapist!" Murphy exploded.

"Alright. Okay," Patrick said, hand in air. "Where I come from a bartender _is _a therapist. That's all."

"Well, this en't where yeh come from." It was the truth. This wasn't where Patrick came from. But it was a harsh truth, and Murphy immediately regretted saying it. Only his Irish pride prevented him from an apology. He'd crossed the line. Everyone kept half on eye on Patrick, but no one openly questioned him. There were loyalties that yet remained to be tested and judgments that were being put off.

Patrick just backed away, knowing he should have known better, too. This wasn't where he came from, and he should act like it was. He knew the codes of conduct. There was a great big stop sign behind him by the red light he'd just run. He'd just become entangled in the headlights of a car he should have known how to avoid. He'd have to get up and move on, lick his wounds later.

Murphy took another drink from his beer, putting Patrick temporarily out of his mind. So Anna thought they were meant to be together, eh? It was possible… he supposed. And she thought they'd always be together. That wasn't impossible either. He had been the one to make it serious. He had wanted it to get serious. He never wanted that. And it wasn't like he didn't love her. He'd just never thought of it was all. Could he get serious? Sometimes he looked at Connor and though he was mighty glad he wasn't like his brother, always in love and always in pain. The again, sometimes he envied him. But he pitied him more. He often thought it was a bad idea to get too serious with any girl considering their choice of occupation. And he had the whole Trista debacle as evidence of the issues it could cause. They were damn lucky she'd reacted as she had. But they mightn't always be that lucky.

And what if he did get serious? What then? To what end? Marriage? They were MacManuses. History dictated they weren't the best suited for marriage. And their situation was awfully dangerous to be having wives and children to compromise. And they might have to run off at the drop of a hat. Murphy couldn't see himself sticking around long. Now it wasn't that he'd had a bad life or regretted any part of it. But it wasn't necessarily a life he felt the need to duplicate. If he ever had a kid he thought he'd like to know it. He loved Anna… but was love enough?

There were a lot of times he'd come very close to telling her everything. Mostly after sex. But sometimes when they were just sitting together on the couch or when she was skipping down the street ahead of him or jumping on his back for a piggyback ride, sometimes then he would look at her and just love her so much more than he knew how to express. And he never ended up saying anything or doing anything, but… he always wanted to. And afterwards he always wished he had. And he promised himself that the next time such a perfect moment came around he would tell her, he would tell he everything. But he never did. And he knew why. He wasn't sure his fears weren't grounded in truth and reason. Most of the time he was horribly impulsive and cared nothing for the effects his actions had on others. But he had learned that if he was going to do what he did, he had to be a little more than careful.

And now Anna had found out that he father was in the mafia and her world had crashed down around her. Even if he could overcome his own misgivings, Murphy was certain he could never tell her now. She would hate him. She would hate him. And, oh, would she hate him.

"Patty, man, can I 'ave another?"

A beer slid down the table towards him, silence in tow.

Good. Now he could finish his thought… not that he wanted to.

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A/N: Review, please!


	23. Gravity

The night was quiet and the windows were cracked slightly to air out the apartment. Anna was curled up on the couch munching on potato chips and flipping through a magazine. The door bell rang. Anna set aside her chips and rose to answer it, keeping her page in the magazine with her finger. She was expecting pizza.

And there it was when she opened the door. "Just a minute," she told the delivery guy as she stepped into the kitchen to fiddle with her free hand through her purse for the money. It was going to be a nice, relaxing night. She'd had plans with Murphy, but he'd called and said something had come up. So now it was a night in with some scented candles and a bubble bath… after her pizza that is. A girl has to eat.

She found her money and sauntered back to the door, unsuccessfully trying to straighten out the bills before she handed them over. "Sorry. I only had small bills. I…" She trailed off as she looked up.

Her magazine dropped to the floor.

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"I am extremely disappointed in you, Anna," Mario chastised from his seat in his study. Anna was standing meekly before him, hand clasped and fidgeting behind her back. "After all I have given you, that you felt the need to run off like that show me just how grateful a daughter you are." He sighed and looked hardly at her. "But I am a merciful father, so your punishment will be bearable. Every child has some rebellion in them, I suppose. Only most get it out long before now." He paused, to let her consider her fate. "You will do all of your previous chores and help your mother in any way she sees fit. You will perform secretarial duties for me here. Now that you know about our family business, it is time you started lending a hand. And you will not leave this house. Not until I can trust you. Nor will you speak on the phone without my approval." Again he paused to let it sink in. "Is that clear?"

Anna took a shaky breath. "Yes, father."

"Now give me a kiss and off to your room. We'll talk more in the morning."

She kissed his cheek and did as she was told. At least she was alive.

Anna entered her room to find it exactly as she had left it… minus a few key items of clothing. She almost didn't notice the addition of the bars on the windows until she pulled bar the curtains to look out at the street. Then she sat staring at them for the rest of the night, thinking them a perfect symbol of what her life had always been.

Twelve hours later she wandered sleepily out to breakfast. It had been a long and sleepless night for her and would be a longer, much more painful day. Her mother set a plate of food before her at the table, and she ran her eyes over it, deciding eating would be a bad decision at this time. "Eat," came the command as soon as she'd made the decision. She grudgingly acquiesced. Her father sat across the table with his coffee and his paper. Anna could see the story on the front page: Saints kill two in mafia-related shooting. "Well, Anna, Antonio and Angelina are coming for dinner tonight, so there are preparations to be made and food to be cooked. I'll be glad to have your help…"

And that was Anna's life.

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"We have to do something!"

"Don' mistake me, I agree, Murph. It's not like we can leave 'er there after she's run away. An' not after what happened ta Roc. Wer not goin' ta."

"Don' mistake me? Don' mistake me?!" Murphy turned on his brother. "Since when d'yeh talk like that?!"

Connor did not respond. He knew his brother was lashing out at the first thing he could grab hold of. And he didn't blame him. Things could go horribly wrong with Anna in there. On the other hand, they truthfully couldn't risk a hit on Mario Della Rocco's own home. Murphy knew, too, but he wasn't ready to admit it yet, and Connor wasn't going to make him.

Murphy plopped down on the couch and rubber his forehead. "We have to do something."

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Sophia wiped off her hands with a towel and tossed it to the side. "There now," she said, "half an hour in the over and they'll be done. See, now isn't this fun? I just love cooking. And I love taking care of things around the house. When everything is clean and organized and nice it makes me feel as though I've accomplished something. And I have! You can choose what we make for dinner tomorrow, Anna… if you like."

"I'm sure anything you plan will be fine, Mother," Anna said from where she was putting away the flour.

"No, no. I want you to make something special, something you like."

"Really, Mother, it's not important. Besides, I like everything you make. You're a very good cook." Anna had learned that flattery was often her best option with her mother, and she had learned it early. Since she'd been back, she'd been putting her knowledge to good use.

"That's sweet, Anna."

"It's true."

"You're a sweet girl," Sophia told her, happy as a horse to have her daughter home. "I don't understand why a sweet girl like you would want to run off with those awful, horrid boys."

"Mother?"

"Well, it's not as though I am completely unaware of what went on while you were gone. I thought it was a bad idea for you to be involved with one of them anyways. There are so many nice Italian boys around here that you could see… like Carlo della Francesca from down the block."

"Carlo's too old for me, Mother."

"He's only twenty-eight."

"He's thirty-one."

"Well his brother Gino, then. He's younger."

"He's also engaged."

"Well, there's Matia Esposito."

"Mat?" Anna balked. "I've known him forever."

"And you get along wonderfully."

"Mother, he's like me brother. I can't date my brother."

"He's not your brother."

"No, he's only as close to me as a brother…"

"I don't see what the problem is. He's a very nice boy." Anna did not respond, only went on folding the towels her mother had set before her. "Leo Giordano?"

"Mother!"

"Alright. Alright."

Anna sighed and then took a breath. "What's so wrong with Murphy anyways? So he's not Italian. So what?"

"Now, Anna, there are a lot of things that can stand in the way of a relationship, but you should know ethnicity isn't one of them, not in this house."

"Oh, really? How was I supposed to know that?"

"We've always been nothing but tolerant."

"Oh, mmhmm."

"What does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything, nothing at all." Sophia left the room to put away the towel and Anna sunk down into a chair. Her expression melted into a frown and she rested her head in her hands. A heavy breath blew her bangs out of her face. Why was this her life? She heard her mother returning and painted a pleasant expression back on her face. Sophia set a basket of whites before her daughter and sat down with her knitting. After a while, Anna decided to resurrect their conversation. "So what is so wrong with him anyways?"

"Who?"

"Murphy."

Sophia sighed. "Well, Anna, you know, it's really not safe for you. And you shouldn't be cavorting with such people. It's bad for your father's business."

"What?" Anna laughed. "Not safe? Father's business? Is this because of where they live because we used to live--?"

"No, no, no. Nothing like that."

"Then what? What _is_ it?" Anna pried, her smile growing with the game.

"Anna, you _know_. It's obvious, girl. What's in your head? Cotton? You can't date a Saint!"

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A/N: One left to go. Hope you guys like it. Review, please!


	24. Virgin Eyes

A/N: Well, here it is, the last chapter. Our time with Murphy and Anna has come to a temporary end. It is temporary as I have already begun work on the sequel, which will be titled after one of all of our favourite lines: Every Major City. I hope to see you all along for that rollercoaster of emotions too. Thanks for reading.

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All Anna could hear was the quickening of her breath and her feet on the pavement as she fled her parents' house for the second time. It had taken her days to figure a way out, but she's found one: a date with Mat Esposito. She'd climbed out the window of the ladies' room at the restaurant and was sprinting down the street barefoot and in an evening dress. As soon as the escorts her father had sent along realized she was missing, she'd be toast if she wasn't long gone. So she was sprinting as fast as she could as far as she could, paying no attention to her direction. All she had to do was wait out the night. Then she could find her way out… forever.

A shout came from far off. Anna ran faster. All she had to do was wait out the night. Just wait out the night. She slowed to a stop in an alley. The back doorway of a restaurant glowed invitingly. She shrugged, shoved her shoes on, and walked forward. She could flirt her way in.

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The next morning, bright and early she was up. She'd managed to procure a cot in the restaurant for the night, but they were opening now and all she could hear was the clanging of pots and pans and the smell of cleaning liquids filled the air. Now she was limping tiredly down the street towards the subway. She'd borrowed a sweatshirt from one of the waiters and looked an absolute mess in her evening gown and hoodie and she could forget about not attracting attention, but she'd survived the night. Now all she had to do was get down to South Boston. Just to South Boston and she'd be alright.

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Anna had taken off her shoes again and was sprinting down the street towards the MacManuses apartment. She flew up the steps, ignoring the pain in her legs and the aching of her head. She whipped her hair out of her eyes and spun around the corner and through the door… into an empty apartment. Anna stopped in the living room, breathing heavily. The apartment was torn to pieces. The sofa was in shambles, cushions flung around the room. The little TV was smashed to pieces on the floor. She could see a broken dressed drawer through the open bedroom door. In the kitchen, pieces of plates and food were scattered ever which way. And, in a corner, a newspaper caught her eye. "Saints of South Boston Revealed" it screamed out to her and she bent down to pick it up. Her breathing had slowed now and all was quiet. She stared blindly at the article for a time before the tears came to her eyes and the words to her lips. "Why didn't you tell me?"

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A/N: One last review? For old times' sake?


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